


The Chaos Files: Book 1

by Canker_Blossom



Series: The Chaos Files [1]
Category: The Kane Chronicles - Rick Riordan
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s), Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, me being a pissy person and rewriting books I feel are one sided, meh approach to canon, spite is the best motivator, try and black and white mythology on my watch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 23:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9264485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canker_Blossom/pseuds/Canker_Blossom
Summary: You know Chaos gets a bad rap? It just goes to show you can't believe everything you read. Are your ready to see both sides of the story? I'm Cassie, your sarcastic git for this evening and welcome to the Chaos Files. If you dare. P.S Several ancient laws will be broken. You have been warned. Read at your own risk.





	

 

To all those reading this: Congratulations! You're among the handful of people clever enough to see through the blocking enchantment-opening for the worthy-Dumbledore stuff like that. But we'll get to that later.

This is our side of the story.

When I say 'our' I'm talking me and Set, the god of deserts, storms and foreigners, Lieutenant of Ra, Lover of Lettuce (heh) etcetera, etcetera.

My name is Cassie, short for Cassandra O'Reiley, Chaos magician, Southpaw, Australian.

There it is: the sideways looks, the slight frown, the _isn't-chaos-evil-I-mean-we've-never-really-seen-it 's-side-of-the-story-because-Sadie-and-Carter-lack- any-kind-of-perspective-or-objectivity-and-it's-evil-because…-REASONS_ face that most people get when they're told that Chaos is not in fact inherently bad.

Or maybe it's because you haven't heard of Australia. It's big and everything tries to kill you.

Back to Chaos, (whats the difference? Oh yeah, Australia actively _wants_ to kill you).

Balance is the key, order to balance the Chaos: freedom, creativity, free will, change, and chaos to balance the Order: authority, rules, protection, tradition. Extremes only destroy.

Everyone got that. Extremes =bad, moderation=good.

Should be logical huh? Aristotle's Golden mean, the craziness the Enlightenments and the Romantics got up to in their time. Every empire falls too far into the extreme and burns. Greece, Rome, Alexander's Macedonia, Persia, Egypt, no exceptions.

That's why you're reading this, friendly Internet stranger. You understand, whether its upbringing, natural or just a huge deal of curiosity, you're reading this. Just enough Chaos, just enough Order. Balance

Of course it doesn't have to be perfect- there's leaning room, so to speak. But you're open, and that's what counts.

* * *

 

My first run in with the gods of Egypt happened just after Carter and Sadie finished saving the state of Arizona. Not as if Arizona isn't always a wasteland, but they did it. Yay for them. I think it was about a week after when I met the crazy hobo my backyard.

When I say my backyard, what I really mean is the desert the farm backs on to. See I live smack bang in the middle of Australia, with my Savta, whose looks like a frail old biddy, but has the mind of a mob boss. The farm's rather small compared to some of the other ones, but since we don't actually produce anything, and our closest neighbor is at least 40 kilometers down the road, it pretty isolated.

Yeah I know it sounds dangerous, letting a little kid wander around a sandy hell filled with poisonous snakes, scorpions and spiders but Savta was always cool about that sort of thing, even after Mum and Dad died when I was little.

It was the holidays, so I was back from my boarding school, which is in Melbourne, down south. Melbourne's pretty good for a city, but I was glad to be back home, the farm house white against the blue sky, Savta watching the Godfather for the hundredth time, my room and books, and the desert spreading out as far as the eye could see.

I work up on a fine Saturday morning, the first proper day back home for the holiday, and I was desperate to get outside, jumping over my dumped suitcase that I'd left on the floor the previous night. After packing the essentials, a couple of books (history and philosophy), my journal, several _large_ bottles of water, disinfection pills, lucky cigarette lighter, and some food (apples, sausages, Jammy Doggers, marshmallows, Wizz Fizz etc) into my rucksack (red), put on my hat, (large, floppy and red), sunglass and walking jacket I was off and out the door.

I've heard Cater and Sadie say how they'd rather not have hosted Lord Pigeon and Lady Cow, how they should have gotten out while there was still time blah blah blah, but honestly, if I'd known what was waiting for me in the desert, I wouldn't have changed anything. Hell, I would have full out sprinted there.

It took me an extra hour to reach Crossroad by the Pool after jumping the back fence around eight in the morning, an hour later than normal, but after being away for so long, I took the river route, which curves around in a circle and comes up by the pool, rather than cutting across the desert. The river's a creek really, not big enough for a crocodile, and the wiry, hard trees that grow along the bank provide a good bit of shade, which I needed despite my layers of 30+ sunscreen after sleeping in.

Why do I need 30+ sunscreen and shade during a morning walk? I'm what would be classified a 'ginger', pale skin, red hair, freckles the works. My hair, too dark to be termed carroty, despite what a handful of girls at my boarding school say, is still too red to be 'auburn' something I'm glad about because there are few hair colours as pretentious as auburn.

I reached Crossroad by the Pool, so named because of the crossroad sign that sits outside of the one room hut, at around 11, one hour off from the beginning of the adventure. Make no mistake, it has modern conveniences by way of light, heating, a bed, a toilet, a fridge, a door and windows, featuring actual glass. No T.V of course, or a proper kitchen or bathroom, not that I need one. It is one of the unspoken rules that I can only stay by the Crossroads for three days at the most, or else Savta will come looking for me. God help the human race as a whole if she misses out one even one of her prohibition documentaries.

I settled in quickly, tossing the food and water into the fridge and dropping my rucksack on the bed. My Mythomagic cards spilled across the quilt, the edges creased after being used a little to roughly as I did a brief check for the three SSS (spiders, scorpions and serpents), so nothing would come back to bite me. As always, the hut at the Crossroads smelt like home, a combination of the desert, old books and good food. I've always considered this slightly weird, as the only time I can cook edible food is over a campfire, but I didn't have time to savor the smell, or hit one of the girls on top of one of my gym trophies with a dart. I’d picked up a new book from a favourite author of mine, with the name of an old acquaintance on the back.

I'm not going to bother telling you the name of the book; if you hadn't read it I doubt you'd have noticed this anyway. I'm not going to go into detail about how I knew this person, because it's not really important: just know it took me under an hour to realize that either Carter Kane and his sister had gone insane, or Egyptian gods were really running around Brooklyn.

A part of me insisted that it was probably just a teen fantasy novel as I swung myself off of the hammock, something that I don't usually read, frankly because of the stilted and irritating romances encourage my destructive tendencies. _It couldn't be real_ , I thought as a tossed _The Red Pyramid_ on the bed, pulling out eclectic stack of history books instead. It couldn't.

(I find this hilarious in hindsight.)

It was a minute to noon when I went into the Hut, fifteen seconds to when I came out again and nothing was out of the ordinary. Then, the moment the second hand on my watch ticked over to noon, a man was on my hammock.

He looked asleep, so I took advantage to make sure he wasn't a convict or mass murder from the sixties with a time vortex manipulator. Apart from the clothes on his back and a strange iron walking stick, he had nothing, not a drop of water or a scrap of food. He certainly didn't look dangerous. _Then again_ , I thought as I set my books down quietly my hand curling around my walking stick, _neither does the cone snail_. I walked forward slowly, ready to run at any sign of movement or knock him out with a witty remark. Then again, considering the fact he was asleep on _my_ hammock, breaking on or two (or several) bones seemed a proportionate retribution.

I stopped a meter or two away, holding my staff across my body like the irritating Tae Kwon Do person said in P.E, and looked at him. He had sharp features, ones that could be cruel or full of laughter depending on expression, which was currently the epitome of laziness and floppy red hair. Something about him was vaguely familiar, as if I had seen it before, in an old movie, or in a dream.

There was no way this man could have walked some distance into the desert without looking a little worse of wear, and his cloths were immaculate, if slightly askew, as if he'd just appeared. I frowned, torn between curiosity and practicality. I wanted to know who he was, but being stabbed to death by a soulless ginger (Oh wow, I might be a hypocrite or something) wasn't on my to-do list.

So I threw a handful of sand in his face. (I maintain this have been an excellent idea.)

Instead of startling him awake via a coughing fit, which would have given me time to either incapacitate him or bolt, the sand shot across his chest and hovered above his outstretched palm, a small cloud of blood red that twisted and turned as if obeying a beat that only it could hear.

"My dear, is this how introduction's are started in…Where am I?" the man asked raising his head lazily, frowning up at me.

"Australia," I said, my eyes on the sand, torn between wariness and a excited, manic mantra of _wowwowowcoolcoolcoolcool_. "How are you doing that?"

The man glanced at his hand, as though magic sand wasn't anything out of the ordinary for him. "Simple magic, child." He smirked and flicked it towards my face.

My hands was over my mouth and my eyes were shut a second before it hit, my walking stick falling to the sand by my feet. I’d been in a sandstorm before, and if it is absolutely necessary you go out, you must have something covering your mouth so you don't inhale sand. Of course, hands aren't good for this, and soon I was on all fours, coughing.

Then something happened…. At first I thought the beat was just the sound of my heart in my ears, but it was constantly changing, skipping a beat, adding a few more, quick then slow then slower that even faster than before, until it was just a buzz. The buzz traveled from my ears to my chest and then down to my fingers. It was as if I could _feel_ the sand, swirling around me. I felt the buzz creeping up to my face and instinctively jerked away. The buzz stopped and when I opened my eyes the only sand was the desert, stretching out to the horizon.

"Oh bravo," the man said applauding, a genuine grin on his face as I grabbed my walking stick and started to get to my feet. He swung himself of my hammock, moving forward like he was going to help me up and all I could think of was that he'd been on _my_ hammock, the one my grandfather gave me before he died and I slammed my walking stick into his stomach.

We both hit the ground, him winded and me still unsteady.

"Don't touch my hammock," I gasped.

"Well I'm _sorry_ ," the man groaned back, an arm wrapped around his stomach. "Considering that you could have died child, you need to get your priorities straight."

"Death's death," I managed rolling onto my back. "You think all hammock's are that nice? Or resistant"

"Or red?" the man added wincing as he prodded him stomach. "You're strong for someone so small, and not very observant of the rules of battle." His tone made it a complement as in _you fight dirty and bruised my pancreas. I like you._

"Since when did battle have rules?" I asked with a faint laugh as in _Cheers, mystery man._ "The trick was cool." He inclined his head. "Cassie," I held out my hand instinctively. He stared at it for a moment non-plussed before shaking it a wry grin twisting his lips.

"Set, god of Chaos. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Ditto." It took me a moment to compute what he'd said, but given I was reworking what I knew about the universe and had almost suffocated in a miniature sandstorm, I feel a little delay was allowed.

" _What_?"

* * *

" _You're_ a God?" To my own ears my voice sounded normal, something I'm quiet proud of in hindsight. My mind was conducting a compacted scan, which is the term I've given to when half of my brain try's to work out what in seven hells is going on while the other two quarters run around screaming and making sarcastic quips.

"A god, Cassie, lower g. Of course I prefer Set. God seems rather generic."

"What type of god?" I heard myself ask, as if this was a perfectly natural topic of conversation (Given that my general response to banal and illogical conversations like the weather, the weekend or morality is to walk away, it says a lot that the logos part of me was tempted to draw the line at this) to have while my brain struggled to place Set's name to a pantheon. I didn't have to go far, despite having spent most of the previous term memorizing the thousands of Greek and Roman I'd seen it only minutes before, reading about how he wanted to blow up Arizona and possessed a man against his will.

"Egyptian," Set said as though that would solve everything.

I think that's what pushed me over the edge, to be honest. The arrogance and his assumption that I should know what that was and treat him accordingly because of this single thing, that _must_ equal the highest of importance (Also, Egyptology isn't my strongest point.) It's not like these gods could pick up a history book or consider that they're not the center of the universe that would be _far_ too much to ask.

"Yeah that wasn't covered in school, you're going to have to elaborate." I covered my eyes with a hand, swallowing with some difficulty. It felt like I'd gargled the damn sand, which only served to make me more irritated. I love sand and the desert, it's my home, the one place I feel like I belong, but I draw the line at the stuff going anywhere near my mouth and eyes.

" _Excuse me_?" Set propped himself up, using the sand to support his back, lazy arse.

"It wasn't taught at school," I said in bored tone, enunciating every word. “We did the classics,” I added, just to be irritating.

"Classics. You mean to say that the greatest empire in history is ignored in favour of the Mediterranean _sheepherders_?" (He said several worse things, judging on tone, but they were in Ancient Egyptian)

"From your point of view, maybe," I replied, rubbing my throat. "I need a drink. Do Egyptian gods drink water or do you prefer ambrosia?"

Now the sane among you might wonder why I was intentionally baiting one of the strongest and most morally questionable gods in the Egyptian Pantheon. (The insane are probably wondering why the voices in their heads are talking about unicorn pineapples.) You see, Internet stranger, I find that people tell the truth when they're slaves to their emotions. That and I enjoy saying things to get reactions out of people. It amuses me.

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if we weren't interrupted before I could piss him off further. Maybe I would be spending my life as a cane toad, maybe I would have woken up with no memory of what had happened and continued on with my monotonous life as it was.

"Water, if you wouldn't mind," Set said, sounding rather irritated as if a pet that walked into walls had taken the gold medal instead of him. I shrugged and turned, twirling my walking stick in my hands like a baton.

It would make more sense, I thought, to say what Set wanted me to and find out why he'd dropped in, but on the other hand Savta had been wise to my baiting since I was seven years old, and as much as I loved my books and my internet and my television, I was always going to have that.

The wind picked up, blowing a gentle spray of sand into my face and hair, my short-lived smile dropping from my face as a strange musty smell reached my nostrils. I've known my desert in every season, in every mood, but I couldn't place that smell. I should have known something was up then, but I shook off the feeling and blamed the smell on _Mister-I'm Egyptian-and-therefore-KNEEEEEEEEEL_. I paused, looking out at the seemingly endless dunes of red-brown sand stretching out to the horizon, dark speck floating in and out from behind a white cloud. "Is that your doing?" I asked, turning to frown at the taciturn god. Set looked up with a scowl.

"No." He sounded offended at the idea. "That's bird smell. Dead meat, excrement, feathers."

"Charming," I said sarcastically, folding my arms across my chest. Another bird had come, a lot closer than before, heading for the river. Something prickled at the back of my next. It was too big and flying to quickly for it to be a magpie or currawong. To see two wedge-tails in the same desert happened once in a blue moon and there was no way the original eagle could have gotten so close. Unless…

It clicked together in my head. The smell, the bird, the god sulking behind me, it was connected. Which meant that only one thing could be behind the bird.

Unfortunately by the time this happened, it had seen us.

"Set…" I began taking a step back, my hand tightening around my walking stick.

"Cassie, get into the house!" the god of chaos said, urgency in his voice that came into conflict with the lazy look of his face when we first met. (That being five minutes later. I already know everything based on that first meeting because I'm clearly Sherlock Holmes.) I turned back to look at him.

"What are you talking about?" I thought: _It's from_ your _family. He wants_ you _._

The scream alerted me to how wrong I was.

I jerked back around. The bird had dived, but the thing that had once been a wedge-tailed eagle wasn't heading for Set. The god controlling that had taken over the bird, the one that had stretched it, causing the patches of raw, bloodied and blistered skin to grown over the new muscles where the feathers could not, was pointing the half meter claws curved like a khopesh at me.

Five-meter long wings beat the air, causing everything not nailed down by roots or gravity to go flying. The bird lunged and I dived out of the way, the blade like claws slicing along my back as its momentum carried the bird into ground. I choked back my scream as I scrambled to my feet, snatching up my walking stick as the bird whirled around, wings drawing great lines in the sand as its beak snapped open and shut, its eyes were coloured gold and silver, the pupils contracted, but they looked human, despite being set into the skull of an eight kilogram bird of prey.

I knew then and there I couldn't tangle with the bird again if I wanted to make it to my next birthday.

Lucky for me, Set had my back. A whirlwind of sand exploded out of nowhere, and the god of chaos slammed the monster bird down the dune with a bolt of blood red lightning. He'd changed his clothing to leather armor and he looked more like a fighter, several dozen scars littering his arms, taller, more muscled.

"All right Cassie?" he asked brightly, spinning his iron staff in his hands like I'd done with my walking stick. For someone who was fighting a psychotic bird version of his nephew, he looked rather pleased with himself.

"Took you long enough," I said, even though I was smiling. He laughed, which made me grin harder. I might have only known him for a short amount of time, I didn't know if he could be trusted and he'd used my hammock, but I liked him. He gave me a wink and traced a perfect circle around me with the base of his staff.

"You're safe as long as you stay here," he said. I gave a weary nod and he smiled, turning back to face the mutant eagle. At the sight of his old foe, Monster-bird-Horus, assuming I'd guessed correctly, forgot all about me and launched himself forward at his uncle.

I dropped the appearance of being able to win a fight and fell to my knees with a groan. My back felt strangely numb, something that probably wasn't good, until I reached over my shoulder, the pain stabbing at me as my fingers touched the one of the gashes carved into my skin. I drew back with a wince and stared down at the black red blood staining my hand, before wiping it on my T-shirt. (There's a benefit to always wearing red. It hides the bloodstains)

A part of me insisted that I should go help Set, or at least pay Horus back for each scar I was going to have, but the most I could have done in that battle was get myself killed, which to be perfectly honest, isn't something I'm keen on.

So I waited in my circle, watching the fight between the two gods for what seemed an age: Set fought smarter and was on his home turf, but Horus went into the fight with a bone headed determination that mixed well with the fact it wasn't his body getting torn up.

"Oh child." A soft voice came from nowhere, and I heard something locked around me, like a cage. "You need not watch any further. The outcome will not be change, and for the crime of disrupting Ma'at, you must die."

"Se-." I began to shout, but the invisible cage shot into the cage, brining me and the sand in which Set had drawn the protective circle up, up into the air.


End file.
